


Silence Is Overrated

by abp



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:10:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5542844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abp/pseuds/abp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre is used to a lot more quiet time to get work done; Courfeyrac tries his best but it isn't always easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence Is Overrated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bloodfever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodfever/gifts).



> Wow this got sappy fast. Hope you like it!

“I’m home!”

Combeferre looked up from his book, a little amused at the sing-song voice of Courfeyrac coming from the front door, but equally annoyed. He felt instantly bad for that (what kind of person could be annoyed their boyfriend was home?), but. Well. It was quiet hour.

Quiet hour started when he lived with Enjolras. The two of them had lived together since college, and, over time, developed an array of weird habits. There was their tendency to be sitting in the same room and start texting each other instead of speaking because it would disturb the peace; there were the looks they could give each other to communicate, which led to all their friends insisting they had some kind of weird mindreading thing going on; there was their weird organization system that led to a drawer for ties in the kitchen and the sharing of quite a few items of clothes. Most of all, the two of them had established a tradition of quietly doing work together to the point that they blocked off at least an hour each day to sit silently and do their work separately. While together.

And then Combeferre had moved out to live with Courfeyrac.

Of course Combeferre was happy about it—he was the one who proposed they move in together, after all. But there were certain words Combeferre couldn’t in good conscience associate with his boyfriend, and ‘quiet’ was one of those words.  

“Hi, love,” Combeferre called back from the guest room/library where he so often spent his quiet hours.

Courfeyrac flitted into the room, all sunshine and smiles. “Hi.”

Combeferre very purposely took a moment to find a bookmark and made a production of putting his book aside.

Courfeyrac gave him a knowing look as he joined him on the small sofa, squishing up next to him. “I know, I know. It’s quiet hour and I’m disturbing you,” he said, a fondness in his voice. “But I’m _not_ going to disturb you. I’m going to be incredibly quiet.”

“Yeah?” Combeferre wasn’t sure he could believe him, but he appreciated that Courfeyrac tried for him.

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac confirmed. “Now, give me a kiss and I’ll go get my textbook. I’ll study while you read.”

Combeferre smiled softly, leaning in to gently kiss Courfeyrac. His lips were still cold from the winter air, but it was as sweet as ever. A warm feeling of affection stirred in his chest.

As promised, Courfeyrac left as soon as their lips parted, going to get his textbook. By the time he returned, Combeferre was once again immersed in the world of his book. Courfeyrac sitting down and snuggling against him barely reached his awareness.

In fact, Courfeyrac started off by doing a great job of respecting Combeferre’s quiet time… at least until he began humming.

“Babe,” Combeferre chided gently, closing his book.  

“Hmmm?” Courfeyrac barely looked up from his textbook. Combeferre was momentarily distracted by how cute Courfeyrac was—leaning against him, his nose scrunched up in focus as he read and hummed. Except his humming wasn’t conducive to _Combeferre_  getting anything done, especially reading.

“You’re humming,” he pointed out.

“Oh I am?” Again Courfeyrac barely looked up.

“Yes.”

Courfeyrac gave another _hmmm_ sound. “Sorry.”

He didn’t sound particularly sorry, but he did stop humming. Combeferre focused on his book again, once more getting lost in the story.

“Ferre? Are you hungry?”

Combeferre gave a bit of a grunt in response, trying to tune him out.

“Because I’m hungry,” Courfeyrac continued. “Not _super_ hungry, but we should have dinner soon. I think we should order out.”

Combeferre bit his lip and stayed silent, hoping it would encourage Courfeyrac to stop talking. He should have known it wouldn’t.

“You know, I ran into Joly today and—“

“Courfeyrac,” he interrupted, a little exasperated. “I thought you were going to be quiet so I could finish my book.”

Courfeyrac turned to give him a sheepish look. “Right, yes. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Combeferre sighed. “I’ll finish it another time.”

Courfeyrac’s expression turned guilty. “No, no, I’m sorry. It’s just, you know _I_ need something else to do when I’m studying or else I can’t focus.”

It was true. Combeferre did his best studying in silence, usually isolated or with Enjolras, but Courfeyrac did his best while watching _The Real Housewives_ or holding an unrelated conversation with Combeferre about what colors they should paint the apartment. Combeferre didn’t understand it, but he had come to accept it.

“I can leave,” Courfeyrac added, voice sad.

It tugged at Combeferre’s heart. His boyfriend merely wanted to spend time around him, even if they were silent—that much was clear. And Combeferre wanted it to work just as much; there was nothing better than having Courfeyrac beside him in all things.

“What if you….” Combeferre paused, looking around. He found pens and paper on the side table and gathered a few sheets and a purple pen for Courfeyrac. “What if you draw? Or write. Would that keep you distracted enough?”

Courfeyrac didn’t look positive, but he nodded. He leaned in to kiss Combeferre’s cheek, and took the paper. His textbook closed now, Courfeyrac used it as a surface to write on and promptly started scribbling away.

Surprisingly it worked.

Combeferre finished his book a good half hour later. Upon closing it, he realized that Courfeyrac hadn’t interrupted him a single time. In fact, he was still scribbling away on his paper.

“I’m finished, Courf,” he said.

Courfeyrac only shushed him. Combeferre watched, amused and fond, as he continued to write with purpose. It took another few minutes before Courfeyrac stopped, stretched his hand, and gave Combeferre five pieces of paper.

“These are for you.”

Combeferre blinked, surprised. Three were covered in Courfeyrac’s spiraling scrawl, and two were covered in all sorts of doodles.

“Things you like,” Courfeyrac clarified helpfully when he noticed Combeferre looking intently. There were perfectly drawn moths surrounded by books and trains and tiny doodled versions of their friends—and so many other things.

Combeferre smiled softly. “This is incredibly sweet.”

“Read the letters,” Courfeyrac insisted.

There was a lot. It was a rambling narrative that Combeferre recognized by now as Courfeyrac’s natural thought process and storytelling style. It jumped around, rose and fell with his interest, brought back points that had stalled out suddenly. There were a full two paragraphs devoted to expressing how good pizza was and how they should get pizza and expressing the many times they had gotten pizza together and it had been a success. Somehow, his main point was still clear amongst it.

 _I know I’m not always easy to live with,_ it said in one of the last paragraphs, _but I love you. I will always try harder to give you what you need, even when it doesn’t come naturally to me. Even if it’s being quiet. I know it would probably be easier to just have me leave you alone for a while each day—and I know you get more done when that happens due to classes or work. But it means so much to me that you want me around, to be a part of this, even when you know I’ll end up as a distraction. I like being near you—I always want to be near you. I always want to be a team. Us, together, facing everything, sharing everything._

_I love you, Combeferre. Forever and always._

“I love you too,” he said softly. You could hear the smile in his voice. “And don’t apologize for not being easy to live with—I know _I’m_ not easy to live with.”

“Not always,” Courfeyrac agreed with a bit of a grin. “But we make it work, don’t we?”

“We do,” Combeferre said, leaning in to kiss Courfeyrac gently. “Because we are a team. A good team.”

“A _great_ team,”Courfeyrac corrected, kissing him again. “So you don’t mind if I join you for quiet time every once in a while? Even if I ruin it most of the time?”

Combeferre nodded. “Of course you can. I like you being near too. And it’s really not your fault—I’m sorry I’m so weird about this.”

“No,” Courfeyrac shook his head. “I’m sorry I can’t be quiet for twenty minutes, let alone an hour.”

“Well, you were quiet when you were writing. Maybe that’s the key.”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “We’ll see how well it works next time.”

Combeferre imagined they would make it work just fine. They really were a great team and, moreover, Combeferre thought this might be something _he_ had to learn to compromise on. He could relax a little and let this tradition go if he needed to; maybe a mostly-quiet hour would be just as good. “At least we didn’t fight about this,” he said absentmindedly. “It could have been another Bathroom Incident.”

Courfeyrac groaned. “I got rid of the hairdryer—I thought we agreed to never mention that again.”

“Sorry,” Combeferre laughed. “Can I make up for that by ordering you pizza tonight?”

Courfeyrac grinned brightly. “You’re the best.”

“I don’t know, you wrote me a love letter. That’s pretty amazing,” Combeferre answered, light and teasing.

“We’re equally the best,” Courfeyrac decided. “And I love you.”

“I love you too.”


End file.
